


Reunited

by airebellah



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)
Genre: Age Difference, Angst with a Happy Ending, Developing Relationship, First Meetings, First Time, Flirting, Hand Jobs, Incest Kink, M/M, Premature Ejaculation, Rough Sex, Secret Relationship, Uncle/Nephew Incest, Unhealthy Relationships, au of rdj's "The Judge"
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-13
Updated: 2019-04-06
Packaged: 2019-08-01 12:19:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,176
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16284497
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/airebellah/pseuds/airebellah
Summary: Peter was eighteen when he saw his father in the flesh for the first time, strolling into the hick-town's only bar, looking like he wanted to be anywhere else. And when Tony proceeded to flirt with him, well, Peter simply failed to tell Tony that he thinks he's Peter's father.“I’m Tony.”I know,he barely stopped himself from saying. Chewed on his lip instead, entirely unsure of what to say. He had been hit on before, but never by someone he actually wanted talking to him. Not to mention Peter had spent the past few years quite sure this man was his father, and the feelings he was having were strongly conflicting with that notion.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I think this will only have about 3 parts, but I'll change it once I'm sure.
> 
> If you're reading forward, please agree not to poke at the logic here too hard; I know a lot of states, for example, don't allow drinking until age 21. We're just gonna roll with it :))

Peter knew the moment he walked into the bar.

He had never seen the man, save for grainy polaroids taken before he was even born. But the moment Tony Stark strolled through the doors in dark-wash jeans and leather jacket, his presence commanding the attention of the entire bar, Peter immediately recognized him.

He hadn’t thought about the possibility of seeing his father, in the flesh, for many years. So he openly gawked as the man sauntered up to the bar, glancing around the darkened room with lazily disguised revulsion before his eyes landed on Peter. The youth had a shot glass in one hand, and an overused rag in the other, unable to go through the motion of actually _cleaning_ it as Tony approached.

The man’s dark gaze trained on Peter’s opened mouth, down the exposed column of his neck, tongue peeking out to run along his bottom lip as he paused at the boy’s crotch, before finally lifting to his eyes. Perhaps Peter should’ve been horrified, considered that the man was ogling a kid  _ literally _ old enough to be his son, yet the boy couldn’t help but hope he had, in some way, measured up.

Resting his elbows on the table, Tony shot the teen a wry smile. “Bourbon. Neat, sweetheart.”

He knew, from his aunt’s stories, that Tony Stark was a smooth-talker that could probably flirt his way out of a hostage situation. All the man had said was  _ sweetheart _ _ ,  _ a rather common nicety, and yet Peter’s chest tightened in burning anticipation.

Maybe, he told himself, it was because he had not only desired to meet his biological father growing up, but to gain the man’s  _ approval _ _. _ But he knew, deep down, it had more to do with the little smirk playing across Tony’s lips, and the salacious twinkle in his eye, than a platonic or  _ paternal _ approval.

When Peter handed him the shot, Tony’s fingertips brushed against the back of his hand, a ghost of a touch that was too subtle to be unintentional. “What’s your name, kid?”

“P-Peter.”

Tony’s lips curled upward until Peter could see a peek of pearly white and perfectly straight teeth. “Why hello, P-Peter.” 

Normally the teen would have been angered at the teasing, but there was something about Tony’s smile that didn’t make him feel demeaned. The man moved in closer, broad shoulders blocking out the other patrons, and it somehow felt like a private joke between them.

“I’m Tony.”

_ I know _ _ , _ he barely stopped himself from saying. Chewed on his lip instead, entirely unsure of what to say. He had been hit on before, but never by someone he actually  _ wanted _ talking to him. Not to mention Peter had spent the past few years quite  _ sure _ this man was his father, and the feelings he was having were strongly conflicting with that notion.

As Peter’s dilemma waged on in his head, and he continued to stare at Tony in complete silence, the man’s eyes narrowed. “Are you even old enough to work here?”

“I just turned eighteen, actually, sir.”

The ‘sir’ was entirely unintentional, had just sort of…  _ slipped out _ _ , _ but Tony’s smile turned just a tad more sly. He wondered if the thought, even for a moment, crossed Tony’s mind --  _ hm, that’s almost exactly the same number of years since I’ve last been here _ _.  _ But of course not.

“Well, then, can I get you a drink?” Tony offered.

“I-I’m not supposed to drink on the job,” Peter said. At least he didn’t add that his aunt would have killed him, the only response that could have possibly been worse.

“I didn’t say from here,” the man pointed out.

“This is the only bar in town,” Peter countered.

“Still?” Tony said. He scoffed, shaking his head. “Jesus Christ. Nothing ever changes around here, does it?”

Peter shrugged and gently pried the now-empty shot glass from Tony’s hand. Before he could pull away, though, Tony’s other hand encircled his wrist. “How about if I stay until closing?”

The logical thing to do would have been to make some sort of excuse. Get a  _ grip _ _ , _ come to terms with the fact that his father was, yes,  _ devastatingly _ handsome -- but still his  _ father _ _ , _ and what he was feeling was wrong. He could have asked for Tony’s number instead, maybe met the man for coffee one bright and sunny afternoon, when Tony was a bit more sober and Peter a bit more rational.

Instead, he poured Tony another shot. And then he downed it instead.

At first, he couldn’t say whether his goal was to impress his long-lost father, or the hot stranger at the bar.

As the night went on, it became decidedly more clear.

Peter was pulled, giggling like an embarrassing schoolgirl, into the photobooth that was probably older than Tony. The older man sat on the chair, pulling Peter into his lap as he drew the curtain closed. Then he pulled Peter into a kiss, and any plans of a ‘hey, I’m actually your son, surprise!’-type conversation flew out the window.

Now, the teen didn’t have a ton of experience. Not because he shied away from sex, but because he had known almost everyone in the town since  _ infancy _ _ , _ and found it hard to get involved, even casually. Never before had been so  _ aware _ of his inexperience, though, as Tony’s lips parted with expert ease and Peter fumbled to catch up.

“Never thought I’d see someone so pretty in this God-forsaken shitstain,” Tony said as his hands travelled down Peter’s back to cup his ass. “Can I take you home, kid?”

That hearing the word _kid_ coming from Tony’s mouth made Peter desperately moan was not a notion he was willing to unpack. Nope, that was something for his therapist to deal with -- in an alternate universe where Peter could actually afford one, at least.

So instead he said, “Yes, please,” and silently hoped hell didn’t actually exist.

 

As he guided a stumbling, barely-legal twink up to his childhood bedroom, Tony began to wonder if this town wasn’t so bad after all. Or maybe it was some sort of providence -- a gift, perhaps, for finally facing his demons.

Whatever the fuck it was, he was sure as shit going to take advantage.

“Think you can keep quiet?” he whispered as he carefully led Peter up the staircase.

“Now or in bed?” Peter asked. Tony would have chuckled, if Peter’s hadn’t proceed to trip and slam into the wall, sending what was likely a lovely, and very staged, family portrait careening down the stairs. The boy, Tony decided as he winced and carried on, had no business working in a bar if he couldn’t hold his liquor.

As it turned out, Peter couldn’t keep quiet in bed, either.

Tony merely dragging his fingers along the boy’s exposed arms had him whimpering. “You okay, kid?” he asked, noticing Peter’s half-lidded gaze was rapidly flickering over the accumulation of poorly-lit junk piled across the room.

Peter seemed to shake himself, as if out of a daze, before turning back to Tony. “It’s, yeah. Just a little overwhelming.”

Tony wasn’t entirely sure what do with that. But he took pity on the kid, offering, “Why don’t you just sleep? I’ll take the couch.”

“No!”

Tony was taken aback by the adamance in the teen’s voice. Peter looked up at him with wide, beseeching eyes that even the most cold-hearted bastard could not have refused. The moment Tony’s body was even slightly horizontal, the teen’s arms and legs were wrapping tightly around him.

So he was forced to squeeze into a twin bed, in his overcrowded childhood bedroom, with a stranger who clearly lacked personal boundaries. And he didn’t even get sex out of it.

Maybe it was karma, after all.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for uh... posting only one chapter and then disappearing. I thought I had more momentum, haha. *ducks*

Waking up in his father’s childhood bedroom should have been thrilling for Peter. And it  _ was _ _ , _ certainly… save for the drool spilling from Peter’s mouth, the headache pounding behind his eyes, and the cool, empty sheets beside him. He tried to ignore the heavy pit of disappointment leaching through his stomach as he sat up, grasping at the floor for his discarded shirt. It really shouldn’t surprise him as much as it did, that Tony slipped out at first light. He was probably prowling in the deep recesses of the large house, impatiently waiting for his failed one night stand to awkwardly slink off the property.

Standing up sent a wave of nausea through Peter, and he had to grip the edge of the mattress as his eyes were forced shut. As his senses slowly recovered, he patted down his pockets. They hadn’t even gotten past second base last night, unfortunately, so Peter was still wearing his jeans, his wallet and phone and keys all smashed into a single pocket. On his way to the bedroom door, he was stopped by the sight of Tony’s leather jacket carelessly slung over the back of a chair.

He told himself it may be his last chance as his feet dragged him over, his hands fisting the smooth, worn material before plunging it into his face. The scent was cruelly delicious as he knew it would be, that musky spice Peter was only now beginning to associate with his father. He wondered if he could take it with him, pretend the gleaming Indiana sun was anything but hot and oppressive. Maybe, just maybe, it was precious to the man. Perhaps so precious, he would be forced to hunt Peter down, who would coyly offer to return it only in exchange for a proper date. And this time, he told himself, he wouldn’t get overwhelmed with his emotions; he would let Tony take what he wanted, take and take and take, and he wouldn’t ask for anything in return; he would be  _ good _ _ , _ and unselfish, and --

The material dropped from his fingers just as he heard the door croak in warning. He took a step back, though perhaps the panting of his breaths gave him away nonetheless, as there stood Tony, barely managing to balance two plates on one arm, his other hand still glued to the doorknob.

The only thing managing to tear his gaze away from the man’s inscrutable gaze was the scent of bacon grease and butter that filled his nose and wormed its way down to his roiling stomach. “Y-you brought me breakfast?”

Tony’s expression became less inscrutable, and more bemused-slash-patronizing, brows furrowing in a sign of displeasure that Peter thought he would do literally  _ anything _ to erase. “Didn’t you get my note?” the man asked, kicking the door shut as he sauntered into the room.

“Note?” Peter echoed, looking around the room as if he half-expected it to be pinned to a wall.

“Yes…” Tony drawled, depositing the plates onto the bedspread. He waved to his left. “On the nightstand.”

Peter gingerly stepped over, nose scrunching up in confusion as he read the beautiful, perfectly curved script. “Why didn’t you just text me?” he asked. All his turmoil could have been avoided had he seen the message sooner. _Be back with breakfast. - Tony._ Written as if Peter could somehow forget the glorious name of the glorious man he had spent an almost-perfect night with. 

It wasn’t until he turned back toward the food that he noticed Tony staring at him with an incredulous look.  _ “Text you?” _ he scoffed, violently stabbing one of the plate’s scrambled eggs with a fork before handing the food over to Peter. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”

At Peter’s meek acceptance, Tony sighed, giving the boy’s head a quick pat. “I’m playing with you, kid.”

The relief was near tangible, the tension in Peter’s body releasing just as suddenly as it had come. “Oh.”

Perhaps to fill the growing silence, Tony explained, “I didn’t actually cook this, so feel free to throw it all up. Just not here -- bathroom’s down the hall and to your right.”

It made Peter smile, just slightly, as he joined in Tony’s disinterested picking at the food. “How everyone in this county isn’t dying from heart disease, I’ll never know,” the man muttered.

Tony managed a few bites of scrambled egg, while Peter nibbled at a buttermilk biscuit. Bread was good for soaking up alcohol, right? It seemed to soak up some of his nausea, at least, without sending him running for the bathroom. 

“I didn’t mean to interrupt you, by the way.” Tony sighed, moving to drop his still-full onto the nightstand. “If you were trying to leave.”

“No, no,” Peter jumped to say. “I, um. Well, yeah, but only because I thought you - like, wanted me to?” His plate joined Tony’s on the nightstand. As he settled back on the bed, he just may have scooched a tad closer to Tony than before.

“Nah, kid,” Tony said with a shrug. “You’re welcome to stay, so long as you don’t mind all of this.” He gestured to the mess of over-spilling boxes and various unrecognizable junk barely pushed to the side, creating a small path to a twin mattress they both sat upon. “Parents weren’t exactly nostalgic,” he explained.

“I don’t mind at all,” Peter lied, pushing aside his growing disappointment as he realized he wouldn’t be able to snoop through the knick knacks and keepsakes from his father’s youth. He began to fidget, restless as he wondered what to do now. He could not decipher, in the light of day, what move to make to seduce the man casually sitting beside him. He knew what he wanted to do -- climb into Tony’s lap. But beyond that, he was torn between his desire to kiss the man silly or simply feel Tony’s arms wrapped around him in a much needed hug.

“Pete.” The sound of his new nickname (he much preferred to think of it as a nickname, rather than consider Tony may have forgotten his actual name), coupled with the man’s hand cupping his cheek, had Peter’s body breaking out in a shudder. His eyes fell shut as Tony carefully tipped Peter’s head to face him fully, thumb brushing across the boy’s open mouth. “You need to stop thinking so much. Trust me, I’m a lawyer.”

“You are?” Peter asked, eyes flying open as he eagerly soaked up this new piece of information. He had so many more questions to ask --  _ Where did you go to school? What kind of law do you practice? What’s your favourite food, do you like movies and comics like me, how big is your cock and does pineapple belong on pizza? _ But they were all smothered by Tony’s lips, chapped and dry and surrounded by joltingly bristly skin, drawing Peter’s mouth into a kiss quicker than the boy’s mind could keep up with.

“If we’re going to do this,” Tony said, already pushing up to his knees and towering over the boy as he pressed Peter back into the mattress. “You have to try and stay quiet.”

Peter nodded, eagerly acquiescent, completely unaware he had been making any sounds at all. But then Tony pressed into him again, not only with his mouth, this time, but his entire body. And Peter felt it, now, the strain on his vocal chords as he vacillated between whimpers and moans. 

It was the first promise he had made to his dad, and he was already breaking it. 

Tony was, objectively, incredibly attractive. And even if he hadn’t been Peter’s father -- no, wait, scratch that.  _ Especially _ if he had not been Peter’s biological father -- the teen would have wanted to go home with him last night. Because their genetic linkage was a hurdle to  _ overcome _ _ ,  _ not a part of the attraction.

Admittedly, it didn’t seem so much a hurdle as Tony’s teeth and tongue ventured down Peter’s neck, settling at the curve of his jutting collarbone. The man ripped off Peter’s shirt with the same enthusiasm as the night before, grabbing at Peter’s hands as they moved to do the same to Tony’s shirt. Instead, Tony pressed Peter’s hands into the mattress above his head, forcing an enthusiastically wrecked moan from Peter’s throat. He wanted nothing more than Tony to press his entirety into the springy mattress, down and down, until he was one with the sweat-scented sheets.

Though previously embarrassed by his unmistakable lack of experience, he was strangely  _ proud _ of himself when a tongue roughly swiped at his nipple, knowing that Tony’s was the first to explore his body. It almost felt like  _ fate _ _ ; _ two star-crossed lovers, separated even before Peter’s birth, only to reunite in a union transcending all borders. 

“The hell did I just say?” Tony griped. Peter mourned the loss of one of Tony’s hands as it wormed out of the boy’s tight grip, only to let out a muffled cry as it covered Peter’s mouth. “Calm down a little, sweetheart, okay?”

The concept had no meaning to Peter, as Tony’s other hand also dislodged, with great difficulty, from its fusion with Peter’s own. But it once again became utterly worthwhile, as he felt Tony’s fingers fumble with the button on his jeans.

“Holy shit, kid,” Tony breathed against Peter’s burning cheek as his hand slipped underneath the layers of material, grasping at the boy’s throbbing cock. “No wonder. You’re fucking close, aren’t you?”

It was a struggle to nod, with Tony’s hand gripping the bottom half of his face so fiercely, but Peter thought he managed to convey some level of desperation. Because Tony’s hand began to pump his cock so roughly and rapidly that Peter’s legs twisted in the sheets, trying and failing to find purchase so that he could thrust up into the grip.

“That’s it, sweetheart, I’ve got you,” Tony encouraged, words so gentle against the fingers digging into his jaw bone. “You’re fucking beautiful like this, I want to keep you forever.”

Peter really had no concept of things spoken in the heat of the moment. He took Tony’s words as they were, clutched them closely to his heart, and allowed them to push him into orgasm. Tony was forced to remove his hand from Peter’s mouth as the boy gasped for insufficient breaths through his nose, heart hammering its way near to arrest. 

When his brain was once more capable of receiving signals, he became aware of Tony’s panted litany against his ear. “Fuck, kid, I don’t know if I’ve ever needed someone like this before.” The words were joined by Tony’s hands grasping at Peter’s hips, nudging the boy onto his stomach. Peter’s limp body obeyed without protest. He could scarcely summon the energy to respond to Tony’s hips desperately rutting against his still-clothed ass.

“Pete, I need to fuck you right now.” Tony groaned as he cruelly pulled away, and Peter turned his head to the side to watch as the man raced about the room, pausing in his search to rip off his shirt, his pants, before bending over to root around in a duffle bag. Peter tried to wriggle his hips in an attempt to undress himself, but his cock was still so sensitive, and the movement proved too much.

When Tony knelt on the bed once more, instead of going straight for the boy’s jeans, he leaned over, fingers brushing some stray curls off the boy’s forehead. “Do you need to stop?” he asked.

Peter silently shook his head.

Tony’s hand fell to Peter’s shoulder, giving a firm squeeze. “Kid, do you  _ want _ to stop?” he tried again.

This time, Peter willed his weary body into a vocal response. “No, please, I want to feel you.”

Hands on his hips guided Peter into a semi-kneeling position, with his face still pressed into the bed. “Ah, to be young again,” Tony sighed as he paused in removing the rest of Peter’s clothes to palm the boy’s cock. “Getting hard again already.” 

“I like you,” Peter mumbled stupidly. It -- had made more sense in his head. He just couldn’t find the words to explain the overwhelming  _ nothing _ that he would have change about the man.

Thankfully, Tony just chuckled, gently smacking the boy’s exposed ass as he said, “Me too, kid.”

The first lubed finger bluntly pressing into him was enough to wipe any vestige of post-orgasm fatigue from Peter’s body. He had to press the pillow into his face as he cried out.

“You should come with a Goddamn warning label,” Tony groused, free hand clutching Peter’s hip bruisingly tight as his finger pressed further inside. “I should rent a hotel room next time. Fuck you until -” He broke off his a groan of his own as a second finger nudged inside along the first. It was almost unspeakably overwhelming. Bringing his hand to his mouth, Peter clamped down on his own flesh, partially to smother his cry and partially to distract himself from the burning stretch.

“Was that too much?” Tony asked.

“Yes, but don’t -!” Peter cried out miserably as Tony’s finger began to withdraw. “Don’t stop, please, please,  _ please _ _ ,  _ I can’t -- you can’t stop, it’s good, I promise!” Once he had started, he was unable to stem his babbling, so overcome with terror that Tony would stop, because while initially it had really burned, and felt just so  _ weird _ _ , _ his body ached for more.

“Okay, okay, just breathe, kid, you’re okay,” Tony soothed, torso pressing into Peter’s back as he leaned over, peppering the boy’s face with kisses. “I’d jack you off, but I’m afraid you’ll come before I even get inside.”

Peter grinned as he felt Tony’s teasing smile press into his cheek. He thought it may have been the most glorious sensation he ever experienced, second only to Tony fingering his asshole.

Tony waited, this time, until Peter was vehemently begging for another finger. Then it wasn’t long before his fingers were replaced with his cock, unfortunately covered by latex but still burning hot against Peter’s skin.

“Ah, fuck, fuck,” he cried out at the sensation, digging his nails into his palms to distract himself from coming immediately. “‘M not, uh, not gonna last,” he confessed, thankful he had a pillow to hide his shamefully burning face in.

“Well, fuck, kid. I don’t think I am, either,” Tony replied. “You’re going to have to let me know when I can start moving.”

_There’s more than just this?_ Peter thought hazily. He was already so full, and not just in his ass; he felt fully consumed by Tony’s presence. The man’s body draped over his smaller frame, elbows resting beside Peter’s shoulders, breath heaving against the back of his neck. 

“Y-yeah,” he stuttered, as his brain belatedly realized Tony was waiting for his command.

It was a word he gasped with every thrust of Tony’s hips, egging the man on to push into harder, and faster, until Tony hand one hand resting on the nape of Peter’s neck as the other guided the boy’s hips up with every movement.

Lost and overwhelmed as he soon was, Peter really couldn’t help it. His low, ragged moan of,  _ “ _ _ Dad _ _ ,” _ just sort of slipped right out.

His mind only caught up when Tony’s hips stuttered to a halt. Peter cleared his throat, hoping to pass it off as an unfortunate stutter as he said, “Dad _ dy, _ daddy,  _ ah _ _.” _

Perhaps Tony’s pause was not one born of horror, but rather an exhilaration that left him temporarily frozen. For his next thrust was hard enough to bash the bed frame against the wall, surely loud enough to alert the entire household to their actions.

“Christ!” The exclamation was followed by a lingering bite to Peter’s shoulder. “You’re going to kill me, kid.”

Tony began to pull out, and Peter whimpered, blindly reaching behind him as if to stop the man. But when Tony pressed in again, at a different angle, he hit this - this  _ spot _ that had Peter coming instantaneously, moaning loud enough to leave his voice hoarse. The thrust after that was too much, too overwhelming, and Peter’s muscles absolutely squeezed around Tony’s cock. 

“Pete.” The boy’s name was muffled against the back of his neck, where Tony smashed his face as he, too, came.

Tony took a few moments to recover, which was more than fine by Peter, who thought he could happily die like this. When he did pull out, both grimaced at the feeling. Peter watched through half-lidded eyes as Tony tied up the condom and tossed it away, hopefully into a waste bin, before collapsing at the boy’s side.

“I’m too old to get in trouble for sneaking someone up to my room,” he decided. Peter smiled, hesitant, unsure of what kind of response Tony was looking for. But then the man chuckled, throwing Peter a playful wink before tugging the boy against his chest. “Ah, fuck it.”


	3. Chapter Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Petition to rename this fic ‘Peter's needy af’

Peter was seriously beginning to wonder if this was the same Tony Stark that his aunt talked about (only ever in passing; her words always left him aching for more, though he could never press) -- the colossal jerk who fled his hometown at eighteen to become a ‘big-shot’ in the city, with no regard for those he left behind.

He knew, of course, that they were one and the same. But the two personalities were so hard to reconcile; he could not picture this man, currently caressing Peter’s sweaty back and pressing butterfly-soft kisses into his shoulder, as the same one who left Peter’s pregnant mother in the pursuit of dreams he had deemed more important.

For now, Peter pressed his face into the pillow, smothering a breathless laugh as the caress on his back turned into tickling fingers assaulting his side. Playfully, he pushed Tony away; but he could barely handle a few centimetres between them before he was pulling the man back in. His fingers began to tremble where they dug into the flesh of Tony's bicep, and he almost feared that he would never be able to let go.

Tony mistook Peter's distress for desire; he huffed, as if aggrieved, before swiping his tongue along Peter's jaw. “That wasn't enough for you? Jesus Christ,” he groused. “Wish we could go again, but I should probably get you home.”

Peter could not quell his protesting whimper, even with the current mouthful of pillow. How could he part with the man after such a short reunion? Surely, an 18 year separation deserved more time than this. And perhaps Tony agreed -- on some subconscious, or higher, level. For the tickling fingers turned devilish as they abandoned Peter's thigh in favour of his half-hard cock.

“Sweetheart,” Tony sighed as his fingers danced along Peter's length. “How are you already hard?”

The tone was admonishing; only slightly so, yet Peter groaned and buried his face even deeper into the fabric, barely able to fill his nostrils with air. The embarrassment seemed only to strengthen the aching in his lower stomach, urging his hips to thrust into the shallow circle of Tony's grip. At some point, the man stopped moving at all; his hand was just there as something for Peter to fuck himself into, with Tony’s gentle encouragements.

“That’s it, keep going, just like that,” the man murmured. 

It wasn’t the right time. H-he knew that,  _ really _ , but he could not stop his mind from wandering. He thought of all the  _ things _ Tony missed as Peter grew up. The baseball games, when he was really young, which were quickly and thankfully replaced with national spelling bees and decathlon championships that his uncle Ben had to drive him to, hours away into the big city, because their town could offer nothing to stimulate Peter's curious mind. 

The thoughts did nothing to hampen the heat building in his groin, twisting up his stomach and spreading down to his toes. It was Tony’s next words that Peter could not be sure he had not entirely fabricated somehow; yet he knew that even his most vivid imagination could not possibly imitate the silky gravitas of Tony’s voice.  _ “Such a good boy right now, Pete.” _

With his toes curling into the duvet, and his back arching into the bed, Peter’s come stained Tony’s teenhood bedsheets for the third time that day.

The man gave him a few minutes to recover. Peter turned his head, away from Tony’s gaze, as he wiped some stray drool from his cheek with a flush. His eyelashes were wet.

 

Later, as Tony pulled him from the bed, Peter found the ache in his ass became so much more. His limbs felt listless as he tugged on his clothes; every inch of skin covered up was a defeat. He waited until Tony turned around to search for a shirt before kicking his jacket, weathered jean with a tacky patch on the elbow, under the bed. 

“Tony, um, I can't find my jacket.” He couldn't even keep the hopeful lilt out of his tone. His eyes searched the room, as if for the clothing in question but really because he wanted to memorize everything. There was a poster, sticking out of one of the boxes near the closet. Just a corner, and it was framed, so surely it was for something important to Tony, but all Peter could see was an ambiguously dark background --

A heavy weight settled on shoulders. Tony smoothed his leather jacket along Peter's arms before tousling the boy’s hair with an affectionate smirk. “You can borrow mine, champ.”

Neither of them acknowledged the fact that it was likely 80 degrees out under a sweltering sun. 

 

It was actually 85 degrees out, according to the monitor on the dashboard of Tony's car. Peter had been a little too drunk the night before to really appreciate the suped-up vehicle, but the plush leather of the seats now made him feel unmistakably grimy and out of place.

“It's an R8,” Tony said, grinning, as they pulled out of the driveway. “Custom interior, of course.”

“Oh,” Peter said, hoping he injected an appropriate amount of amazement into his tone. He knew nothing about cars. “That's cool.”

He vowed to look about stuff about cars -- and  _ law _ _ , _ while he was at it -- as they lapsed into an intolerable silence. He tried to think of something to say, but each second brought them agonizingly closer to home and his throat was too dry for him to form any words. Tony was growing annoyed, too; shifting in his seat, thrumming his fingers against the stickshift to an impatient beat before finally turning on some music.

The song immediately launched into a heavy bass that Peter vaguely recognized, from some old movie, he thought. It was loud -- obnoxiously so, the kind of loud where you rolled down your windows so that no one could possibly mistake your presence. He must have taken Peter's wince as a complaint of some kind, as the music suddenly cut without Tony so much as lifting a finger.

“What, you don't like Black Sabbath?” Tony accused.

“No, no,” Peter quickly placated. “It's a pretty cool song.”

Apparently that was not the right answer, for Tony groaned and hit his head against the headrest.  _ “ _ _ They _ _ , _ kid, they're a  _ band _ _ ,”  _ he corrected, as emphatic as if Peter had confused a proton with an electron. “Just listen and tell me what you think, yeah?”

The sound waves felt like a physical pounding inside his ear drums as Tony turned the music up even louder than before. But the man was grinning, looking over at Peter every few seconds expectantly, and the boy was giddy at the prospect of Tony actually caring about his opinion about a  _ song _ _ , _ or a band, whatever it was. He waited until Tony's fingers were uplifted on a beat before working his own fingers underneath, against the stick shift. Tony's hand raised a bit, to accommodate Peter's beneath it, before he joined their fingers together.

He hoped that the song would never end, because then maybe they would never reach May's house, and he wouldn't have to leave.

Eventually, though, the music did come to an end; cut off so abruptly in the middle of a chorus that Peter almost got whiplash as his head whipped to the side to check if they had already arrived. But all he was met with was a lonely, empty field, and the car showed no signs of slowing down. Instead, Tony’s fingers squeezed Peter's (which were slippery with sweat, between the beaming sun, the oppressively hot jacket Peter refused to ever take off, and the heat of Tony's hand), and he cleared his throat.

“Ever think of getting out of here, Pete?”

It wasn't something that had crossed Peter's mind in a while, truth be told. Before his Uncle Ben had died, leaving May struggling to keep their bar open by herself, Peter had let himself dream of leaving this town. When he was young, those dreams centred around him finding his father in the city; there had always been a gaping hole in his life that Uncle Ben, no matter how many scraped knees he kissed better or how many tantrums he diffused with sage words, simply could not fill.

But maybe that was a tad too much to unload onto Tony right now.

Instead he said, “Um, I don't know.” He threw in a noncommittal shrug for good measure. “My aunt really needs me, so...”

_ “ _ _ Never _ let someone else's needs hold you back.”

The vehemence with which the words were spoken, if not the words themselves, startled the teen. Tony's grip on the stick shift (and Peter's hand on top of it) became bruisingly tight, for just a moment. Peter’s lips pursed as he glanced back out the window and tried not to think about his mother.

He could hear Tony clear his throat; the man’s tone was a touch softer as he next asked, “So what do you want, kid? Outside of this shit-stain, that is.”

“College,” the teen replied. It was a safe response.

“Good, that’s great,” Tony said immediately, and Peter couldn't help but preen, just a little. “What is it, May right now? Haven’t you heard back?”

“... Yeah.”

Tony glanced at the boy out of the corner of his eye before wincing, almost imperceptibly. (Perhaps it would have been, had Peter not studiously memorized every minute detail of Tony’s face). “Shit,” the man muttered. “Sorry, bud.”

Peter shrugged. “I, uh, applied to MIT, so I kinda knew it was a long-shot.”

It was not a lie, he just failed to mention that he had been accepted to Indiana State, but the deposit deadline had coincided with a pipe bursting in the bar’s single washroom, and he had had to forfeit his place.

“MIT.” Tony whistled. “You got high hopes, kid.”

Peter tried to nod in agreement, but the movement was jerky and awkward. It was so  _ stupid _ _ ,  _ why had he mentioned anything? It was clearly unrealistic -- he was well aware of that, knew that he should have saved himself the application fee, maybe just applied to a community college.

Tony reached over and ruffled Peter’s hair, and it felt like a welcome appeasement. “It’s good, though. Don’t let this place kill that, you hear?”

Of course, the words came just as the car began to roll to a stop along Cobb St. and Peter could see his house down the block. He risked a side glance at the older man, taking in Tony’s reaction to the overgrown lawn and the faded paint slowly wearing off the porch. Unsurprisingly, there was a small but discernible frown wedged between the man’s brows.

“Hmm. What'd you say your last name is again, Pete?”

“Uh, P-Parker,” he murmured nervously.

Tony was staring out the window, eyes narrowing as he took in the property. And then, like that, he shrugged and turned back to Peter. He felt like he could breathe once more, until the man leaned in with a sly grin. His arm slung across Peter’s shoulders as he asked, voice low and secretive, “Aren't you gonna invite me in, sweetheart?”

“Y-y-yeah.” And _shit_ _,_ he had been so consumed about the possibility of Tony leaving that he had never considered the man may actually want to come _inside_ _._ And Tony was staring at him, eyes slightly narrowing the longer Peter hesitated. “Yeah, yes. Just, uh…” Peter licked his lips nervously. “Let me just check if my aunt is home?”

Just as his fingers were wrapping around the door handle, he heard a scoff. “You still live at home, kid?” Tony knew, of course, just how old Peter was. There was no reason for the words to make his muscles freeze up, yet any mention of Peter’s family or home life seemed too --  _ close _ _. _

But then the man shrugged, as easy as ever. “Guess that’s the norm around here, isn’t it?”

“Y-yeah, I mean, I guess?” Peter stuttered. “I wouldn’t really know anything else, sir.”

_ “ _ _ ‘Sir’ _ _ ”? _ The echoed word was accompanied by a lascivious grin. “You better leave that for the bedroom before I maul you in front of your aunt. C’mon, go on and check if the coast is clear.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you, everyone, for your patience between uploads! Not to surprise anyone, but I think this story will be completed within two more chapters.

**Author's Note:**

> [Visit me on tumblr for more of my Starker ficlets, to submit requests, and geek out with me over these dorks.](http://airebellah.tumblr.com)


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